The Night Before It's a Warnerful White Christmas Story Carol Vacation
by ProjectAnimation
Summary: The Warner Brothers Studio is planning a Christmas spectacular, and of course, the siblings are there, too. The performance is for a children's hospital, yet it seems as though the show holds no true value of what Christmas is really all about. It's up to the siblings to save the program with every holiday cliche one can imagine and one very special twist!
1. Act 1- The Christmas Program

HellOOOOO, Nurses, and happy holidays! Here it is, the ultimate mash up of every Christmas special created. This story is in two acts, so what better way to open the first act than with a rewritten theme song? Stay tuned for the first chapter!

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><p>It's time for Animaniacs<p>

And it's Christmastime at last!

So grab some cocoa and relax

You'll laugh 'til you collapse

We're Animaniacs!

Come join the Warner Brothers

And the girls: Alice and Dot

Just for fun we'll tie this Christmas special in a knot

So stock up on the eggnog for this convoluted plot

With snowy fluff that's cold enough

To even freeze your snot!

We're Animaniacs!

Dot is cute and Yakko yaks.

Wakko packs away the snacks

And Alice recites random facts

We're Animaniacs!

Meet Pinky and the Brain who plan a special Christmas scheme

Goodfeathers fight the weather; Slappy decorates her tree

Buttons chases Mindy- Rita carols merrily.

It's Christmas break, so stay awake

As we tell this tale to thee!

We're Animaniacs!

And in this story you are trapped

It's been specially gift-wrapped

We invaded Santa's pack

We're Animanie,

Totally insaney

Candy cane-y

Animaniacs!

Those are the facts!


	2. Wreck the Halls

Well, here you are, folks! The first chapter of my holdiay fanfic! Enjoy and please, I do love feedback! I can fix it! ;D

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><p><em>Queue: violins… flutes, chimes… The gentle holiday sounds fill the space with elegant rolling of the piano's keys, and the melody begins. <em>

_The fire crackles contently, its golden glow flooding the room with smoky warmth. The golden light glints in the glittering tinsel dripping from the fresh pine branches like strands of stardust. The oaken mantelpiece is draped with garlands of bright poinsettias, with small, gilded metal trees nestled among the vivid red flowers. ._

_The tree is cloaked in hot dripping candles, glistening like waxy dewdrops on the soft green needles. Silver, gilded, glass, and cloth baubles decorate each branch, in every color and shape, and small red ribbons are knotted here and there. A red velvet skirt below is embroidered with golden thread, and around it are gathered small packages and parcels tied up in golden foil and blue paper, with silver and purple ribbons and painted nametags. A tall-backed scarlet armchair sits between the lovely Christmas tree and a snowy window, and a small figure rests on the arm with a glass of eggnog and daydreams at the wonderland behind the glass. _

_Outside the frosty window, snowflakes dance down from the starry velvet sky, the haze of Christmas lights casting colors across the sparkling white blanket. On the welcoming red door in a wreath of holly; a snowman bundled in scarf and hat, pipe stuck in his wide rocky grin, beckoning visitors to rap on the gilded knocker, hinting at the warmth to be found inside. Somewhere, over the glowing silver hills in the light of the Christmas Eve moon, a trio of weary carolers glides through the snow, their angelic voices rising over the snow capped landscape and mingling with the soft sound of distant jingle bells and dreaming birds in the trees. _

_The figure in the armchair turns and faces the tree, lost in holiday thoughts, his red nose gleaming in the warm glow of the fire and bright black eyes sparkling in the dazzling holiday lights. His gloved hands are folded lightly in his lap, over a copy of __A Christmas Carol__. He takes a slow sip of his eggnog, careful not to get the creamy froth in his fur. The carolers over the hill are singing now, about the snow. He smiles serenely. _

"Good evening, families across America and Alaska. Welcome to The Warner Brothers' Studio Christmas Spectacular. My name is Yakko Warner, and I will be your host tonight.

"Tonight, we have a very special show planned, perfect to brighten your holiday season. We will have an incredibly heartwarming performance of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, featuring the acting talents of John Malkovich as Ebenezer Scrooge, Christopher Walken as Bob Cratchit, and Richard Simmons as Tiny Tim. _Yikes_. Later, we will have a stirring performance of 'Let it Go', and since our crummy producers could not afford to get Miss Dazeem due to her contract with Disney, we have hired their former and disgusting child star, Miley Cyrus, who will sing 'Let it Go' while riding a giant swinging ornament. But now, dear ladies and gentlemen," Yakko said, taking another sip and placing a hand over his heart, "I would like to take a brief moment to talk about the true spirit of Christmas.

"If I had one wish that I could wish this holiday season, it would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing together in the spirit of harmony and peace.

"And if I had two wishes that I could wish for this holiday season, the first would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing in the spirit of harmony and peace. And the second would be for $30 million a month to be given to _me_, tax-free in a Swiss bank account.

"You know, if I had _three_ wishes that I could make this holiday season-,"

"CUT! CUT! CUT!_ WARNER!_" Bay hurled his scorching hot coffee mug at the young toon furiously and the poor soundman didn't jump out of the way fast enough. "Listen to me, you monstrous little creep, if it wasn't for your big name around here, I'd have you shut in a box floating down to sea. So you better read the God darn script, or I swear, I'll… I'll, er, I don't know! Something bad!"

When Yakko looked up clueless and sweet, the steaming director growled, "You're lucky enough to have this gig, and you can't stop goofing around! You wanna be in this production, you gotta do what _I_ say, _exactly_ the way _I_ say it!"

"_Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_, Mr. Harbor-,"

"Bay!"

"Whatever. I didn't _want_ to be in this production, I just wanted to try out the company taco bar. _You_ roped me into this, so I think I deserve a _little_ say in what I do. And what did I do wrong, anyway? I thought that introduction was tugging at the heartstrings, or audience's money, whichever you pick, though I have a feeling you'd pick the money- a real 'so schlocky you could just barf!' sort of tugging at the heartstrings, anyway."

"You can't talk about the big performances until they're ready to be performed! It's the element of surprise! It's important! We want to do things that the people won't be able to predict!"

Just then, Wakko, Dot, and Alice popped in beside Yakko, seemingly from out of nowhere, clad in carolers' garb and holding music books.

Yakko hopped down from the seat and stood tall on the unconscious soundman's coffee-soaked back. He grinned lazily and waved a hand at Alice, who pulled out a notepad. "I believe my representative here can counteract your statement, my dear Mr. Inland. Alice!" He clapped his hands together once.

Alice began scanning and read out loud, "In an opposing statement by my associate here, these 'unpredictable things', as you so crudely put it, include incredibly unrealistic explosions, Barbie doll sidekicks, unfunny comic relief used for space fillers, and even more tracking shots than a Scorsesse film, all at a whopping unnecessarily long average of a 154- minute run-time."

Bay, obviously trying to ignore the truthful clichés, bellowed, "This isn't a film, it's a holiday special, you worm!"

"Christmas special!" the siblings (and Alice) all corrected in unison.

To cope, Bay punched the soundman in the jaw as he was reeling to his feet. With a heavy clunk the soundman hit the floor again, but everyone was too scared to cross under Bay's huffing nose to get him. They all valued their own live, and the soundman wasn't really that important anyway, right?

Bay took a deep breath and continued, more slowly and forced, "We would like to appeal to everybody, not just whoever you want. We'd like to celebrate more than one holiday, so everybody can watch and _enjoy_ and help boost our ratings so I can fund Transformers Five and Six and the new spin-off series."

"Whom," Alice piped up.

"Whom? Whom what?" Bay asked, deranged.

Alice sighed, and the siblings shook their heads disapprovingly at the fuming director. "You said those _who_ever we want, when you _should_ have said _whom_ever."

Bay's eyes were enflamed, and the crew was frozen in fear.

"Could. You. Stop. CORRECTING ME!"

"I don't know, could I?"

"GAAAAAAAAAH!"

The Warner siblings watched in distaste as the great director threw his temper fit by throttling the poor soundman's dazed body like a rag doll, among other things, the four of them not-so-secretly admiring the terrified faces of the crew behind him.

When Bay had finally calmed down (considerably, anyway. He was still shaking the soundman, but had stopped beating him with the microphone. That was an improvement), Wakko shook his head and asked with obvious aversion, "Why don't you go back to Paramount? They know how to handle you."

Alice whispered obnoxiously loudly, "The contract expired and they were sick and tired of his temper fits. It's called 'discipline'."

"_Ooooooohhh_. But I don't think it worked."

Bay ignored the statement and snarled through clenched teeth, "_Can't_ you _just_ say what the script says _for God's sake_?"

Yakko took a prolonged sip of his eggnog and shrugged. "I just figured I should give the audience a heads-up before they have to endure the horrible performances you've put together, Baby. I mean, it's not right to let them suffer like that. That's just a Steve Binder move, and that's not cool."

Bay let out a furious scream and ripped out a tuft of his hair. He kneeled, practically begging, '_Please_, the _script_!"

"Oh, I'd love to, but Wakko ate it," Yakko said, inspecting his nails on gloved fingers.

Before Bay could scream again, Alice chimed in brightly, "Yakko, this time, just introduce the show by saying _holiday_, a- and be sure to mention Chanukah, and Kwanza, and whatever the scientologists celebrate!"

"Devil's worship, during Christmas?" Yakko asked uncertainly.

"_Holiday_, Yakko. And no, they don't worship the Devil, just Travolta. I- er," Alice faltered for a moment and mumbled to herself with a giggle, "You're right, Travolta is rather like the Devil-,"

"_OKAY_, children!" Bay shouted with a crazed grin, "Let's do this _again_."

So the cameras were poised once again, the soundman replaced with a fresh one, siblings placed at their posts, and with a clap of the snapper, the tape began rolling again.

The heavy curtains parted again to reveal the beautiful scene, but this time, Yakko was perched on a mat surrounded with corn and holding a menorah. Outside, the carolers were singing, Wakko banging on African drums and clanging jingle bells as Dot and Alice crooned 'Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel'. Yakko coughed into his fist and smiled serenely at the camera, sipping his eggnog. With a deep breath, he began gently:

Little angels in white tulle skirts sigh

As they twirl and leap through the frosty air

And drift down to the earthy pine boughs high

And settle to sleep in green needles bare.

The flakes fall gently outside the window

And pearl stars shine in the black velvet night;

Moonlight glints over the shimmering snow

And gilded warmth pools over silver white

The candlestick cries wax tears on the sill

And the bright fire roars over the sweet bark;

Sore carolers trudge home over the hill

And weakly hum their way through biting dark

And in the home- no tree or gifts newish

For you see my dear readers; the family was Jewish.

"_CUT_! _OH MY GOSH_,_ WARNER, ARE YOU INSANE_?'

Yakko flipped his ears. "Oh no, just too good-looking."

When he received a scathing, murderous look from the red director, he shrugged, very annoyed, and said, "What? We're appealing to people who celebrate all holidays!"

"You're being antisemetic and racist!" Bay snarled, pointing an accusing finger.

Yakko placed his hands over his heart in shock and yelled, "_Me_? Whatdeya mean?"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Butt out, you three! What you did was discriminating and unacceptable! You could've given the censors a heart attack!"

Yakko hopped up on Bay's chest and smashed his finger down on Bay's nose. "Listen here, Bayou, you asked us to appeal to all cultures and religions, and so we mashed 'em all into one, so they'd all be equal! And when we do appeal to all of them, you say we're racist! Stop being so sensitive and let us do our jobs!"

Bay grabbed Yakko's nape and flung him off as though he were infected. "There's a fine line between 'zany' and offensive, Yakko Warner!"

Yakko groaned and Alice said, "When Bugs Bunny dressed in a skirt and flirted around with Elmer, was that offensive?"

"No, I laughed my butt off!"

"Well then, why should you be offended by some innocent poking at religion? If someone dressed in drag today in a cartoon, it would be off the air immediately, because people are so sensitive to everything and would be offended somehow, though there is nothing offensive about it."

Bay crossed his arms stubbornly and looked away. She knew he knew she was right. Instead, he grunted, rubbing his temples miserably, "One more time, you little beasts. _One. More. Time_. And this time, let's just cut out the religions, please. Just… we need something explosive, something that will catch audiences' attention that doesn't involve drums and dreadful poems."

"It was a sonnet."

"Shut up."

As Bay went to go find his bottle of Tylenol, the siblings and Alice huddled together and Yakko whispered to his kid brother, "You ready to bring out the big guns?"

"I don't now about the guns, but I have the-,"

"_SHHHHHHHHHHHH_!" the other three hissed through their teeth.

"Oh, right, hehe. Yeah, I have 'em, in my gaggy bag! Still in the wrapping, too."

"Slappy is a saint."

And so [sigh] the set was once again set, the orchestra prepared, and the curtain lowered.

"And… _gulp_… action."

The curtain was raised a hair when a sudden onslaught of explosions erupted at the front of the orchestra pit, sending candy canes and tree baubles zooming through the air like bullets. The entire crew ducked down to avoid them and Bay grabbed handfuls of his hair out in hanks.

Through the ruins of the set, the sunset was glaring over the Burbank hills, the silhouette of car robots fighting on the furthest slope, and five helicopters roared across the blinding light and zoomed through the studio and just over the crew's heads, sending papers, cameras, boom mics, and cast members flying across the room from the beat of the propeller.

Out of the wreckage and thick white dust, a four figures rose, the sunset melting into the red sky behind them and setting their ebony fur to a blinding white. To see who they were, the cameraman closed in very tight on the people's faces, revealing them to be none other than three Warner siblings and Alice, all clad in military gear and Santa hats. An electric guitar screamed out a dreadful, deafening rendition of 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree' as the siblings climbed the wreckage and held up the smoldering Christmas tree.

With the crew looking on in terror and S.W.A.T teams swinging in through the gaping hole in the studio's wall and tigers and T-rexes running around and breathing fire in the background, the toons screamed, "_HAVE A HAPPY HOLIDAY, YOU FILTHY ANIMALS_!"

Wakko raised a small red button, and with a close-up wink and grin at the camera, said, "And a Happy New Year."

_Click_.

**_BOOM_**.

A choir of screeching guitars erupted from the wreckage, bombs and TMT raining down from the smoky sky like red wax snow, and Bay fell to his knees screaming and shrieking and swearing a sobbing his red eyes out, defeated.

"_CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT! CUT! CUT! CUT! OH MY GOSH_!"

The bombs stopped falling and the siblings hopped up to snuggle in Bay's lap sweetly. "Like that?"

Bay, who was by then petrified and lying pathetically in a puddle of his own tears, shrieked, "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

Dot rolled her eyes and hugged him around the neck sweetly. "You said do 'something explosive', Silly!"

"You destroyed everything! Look at what you have done!"

Yakko wiped tears from his eyes and sighed, "I know, Peninsula, isn't it lovely? Truly one of your visions come true, huh? Now we did exactly what you wanted! Something unpredictable! But that's where you messed up: everything you do is predictable!"

Dot giggled. "Give us a kiss, kid!"

MmmmmmwWAAAAAA!

Bay flung them _off_ and bellowed, "You mosters! You little mosters! You should all be committed! I want you off my set RIGHT now!"

Wakko looked around, admiring his work. "You don't have a set."

"I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!"

Yakko chuckled and didn't budge. "Kill us? Lagoon, baby, I don't think you can do any worse to us than what you did to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." He suddenly squinted and said to himself, "_Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh_, I take that back- Transformers One, Two _and _Three…" He grimaced and raised his eyebrows at the director with uncertainty "Ooh- yeah, you can do worse. We're outta here."

Bay shrieked, "YOU'RE FIRED!"

"Will you still be needing us?" Wakko asked, motioning at the carolers Dot and Alice, and himself.

"NO! You're fired, too! You're ALL fired! Tell 'em, Don!"

Trump looked over from the mirror he was using to comb his hair over and pointed an accusing finger. "Yeah, you're fired, you're fired, you're fired, you're fired."

Dot winked. "Get it? Brace yourselves, readers; this fanfic's gonna be heavy on the cameos!"

Alice looked up at Bay and smiled. "I'm afraid you cannot do that, my dear. Because you see, in our contracts, we're owned by the studio, and are obligated to be in this whether you like it or not!"

Bay squinted. "But just a minute ago, Yakko said you didn't want to be in it, and he just wanted to try out the taco bar!"

"Which he was obligated to do," Alice said, and the four toons all grinned broadly.

"YOU'RE MAKING NO SENSE!"

"Well we don't have to, baby, we're cartoon characters," Yakko said sweetly.

Bay looked at the wreckage at his once-beautiful set and whispered hoarsely, "I don't even have a set anymore. I don't even have a tree."

Wakko jumped up and smooched his cheek lovingly. "Don't you worry, Michael! I'll go get you a new tree!"

Bay glared murderously. "_You_? _Why_ should _I_ trust you_?_ You blew up my set!"

Alice popped in. "He's _obligated_ to get you a new one."

Bay stared down incredulously. Alice smiled up, batting her lashed adorably. He shuddered from the sickening sweetness and glared. "I hate you."

"Ditto."

Bay set down Wakko, wary of his dribbling tongue, and said, "Okay, you little _creep_, off you go. You better get a good one, or I swear I'll have you boiled for my dinner."

Wakko rubbed his tummy with a bright smile. "Faboo! I taste great with a little garlic and sage, you know."

And with that, Wakko headed out to get a tree, walking out into the blood red and helicopter-infested sunset, the heavy metal choir screaming 'Silent Night' as he went.


	3. Schroeder's Overture

**Thank you so much to all of you for the lovely feedback! It is much appreciated! I hope all of you had a very Merry Christmas! **

**I'm updating this chapter late today. ^-^ **

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><p>Wakko stepped outside the studio, just as the sun was melting behind the Burbank hills and Acme Acres. As common for California in December, the weather was still pleasantly bright, and the pavement beneath his feet was warm. He looked up at the purple sky just as the last of the sun's rays disappeared, and something small inside him wished it would snow. He liked snow, and the only time he and the others got to play around in it was when they dug their way to the Matterhorn, or the Himalayas, or Tahoe. And sometimes, staying in, watching Don Knotts videotapes, and eating boxes of those really good William-Sonoma candy cane marshmallows with hot cocoa was much more fun and preferable for him, though making snow angels and rolling around in the fluff was fun. Eh, he liked everything, he decided, pleased with the decision. He wasn't very good at making them, so when he did, he was usually very happy about it.<p>

So Wakko strolled down the sidewalk, admiring the sky as small glimmers of stars peeked out from the oncoming darkness, and the purple melted into blue into black as he just hopped the lot's fence, nearly landing on a scruffy dog and gray cat trying to squeeze through the bars. He skipped, cartwheeled, whistled, ran, and crawled on all fours down the sidewalk, as his attention span is very short, you see, unless whatever it is that he is doing involves eating or card games. He didn't know where any particular tree lots were in the area, so he just wandered into the heart of the city absentmindedly, looking around at all the shops.

As with anyplace in the world during the holiday season, every mall, boutique, and glamorous restaurant were lighting up with twinkling colored lights in the twilight, trees and wreaths flickering on in every warm doorway or window. Santas with donation pails were emerging from their respected department stores in their heavy red velvet suits, bearing the marvelously warm humidity for a good cause. As the stores lit up and carols began wafting through every polished gold and glass revolving door, parking lots began filling up, restaurants crowded, crowds began packing into the stores like sardines. Traffic was still heavy, and cars lined the increasingly bustling sidewalks as they waited for the red lights to blink green. The freeway was bursting at the seams with honking cars, their lights blinking like a long, endless strand of lights leading to Glendale.

Wakko was busy admiring the lights and singing along to the carols when his nose suddenly perked up, sniffing on its own accord, as it usually did. He looked around and got down on all fours, sniffing around the sidewalk to the confusion of those walking. Then he could finally remember what he was supposed to be doing; his nose was reminding him. He woofed excitedly and bolted off down the walk on all fours like a dog, sniffing his way through people's legs and causing a commotion.

He kept following the scent until he found himself in the parking lot at the Macy's off San Fernando and Cypress. He looked around and scratched his head.

"…Why am I? Oi, there!" He looked over to see a glamorous Christmas tree lot, lines of people going in and spilling out, giant, fresh white pines and grand firs over their shoulders as they went to their cars. The line in, however, was about twice as long as the line out, and Wakko could see the number of trees dropping with each person in.

"Pardon me! 'Scuse me! Outta my way!"

"Hey, kid, watch it!"

"Oy!"

"Oof!"

Someone tapped Wakko's shoulder and he whirled around to see the crowd of people glaring at him.

"Come on, kid, you need to wait in line like the rest of us!" a frowning woman said impatiently. The crowd chorused behind her in agreement.

Wakko flung his hands up in the air and said, "But I can't wait, or all the good trees will be gone and Michael Bay won't be happy with me!"

The woman's husband squinted at him, obviously confused. "…Bay? Ugh, whatever. Listen, kid, we have three days 'til Christmas and we _all_ want to get good trees before they're out, but you're acting ridiculous."

Wakko cocked his head to the side like a curious and adorable puppy. "No, I'm not acting, I really am ridiculous. Merry Christmas!"

_SMACK! SMACK! _

Leaving the confused line and horrified couple he kissed behind him, he ran into the lot, looking around at all the wonderful trees. But they were quickly disappearing, and he began to worry. He ran up to a young man tying up his tree and yanked lightly on his shirt corner. He looked down, slightly repulsed.

"Uh, what are _you_? A bug?"

"I dunno. I think I'm some sort of dog. You'll have to ask my brother, he knows the scientific name. My brother's really smart, but really annoying." He smiled brightly with his tongue hanging out at the bewildered young man and asked, "Could I have your tree?"

The man blinked. "Could you have it? No! No way! I bought it. Go buy your own."

"But I can't, mister! There are no more big ones!"

When the man ignored him, he tapping is bottom lip in thought. Then a light-bulb went off over his head, startling several others buying trees. He hopped up and hugged the man around the neck. "I'll give you a kiss!" he suggested sweetly.

The man grimaced, disgusted at him. "Then _definitely_ not. Get off me!"

Wakko held on to the man's shirt corner and dragged his heels as the man lugged the tree from its place against the fence angrily. "Oh but _please_, mister, all the good trees are gone, and I _have_ to get a big one! I'm getting it for Michael Bay!"

The man tried un-sticking Wakko from his shirt unsuccessfully and yelled through clenched teeth, "Oh really! Yeah, well I'm getting one for Scorsese!"

He managed to pry Wakko off and hauled the tree out just before Wakko could latch back on. Wakko plopped down on his bum, annoyed, and watched as the last of the nice, gigantic firs were carried away. Now, the line was flooding in, snatching up all the decent trees left, and soon, Wakko was left in a lot filled with needle carpets and all the skimpy pines. He sighed and fells face-first to the ground.

"I'm dead."

He lay back and looked up at the sky, imagining Michael Bay's methods of torture awaiting him back at the studio, when a small branch caught his eye. He rolled over to see a small sapling bowing over him. He stared at it for a minute or two, curious to its size and reason for being in the lot at all. It was too puny, too skimpy, too pathetic to belong anywhere, especially such a glamorous place such as Burbank. But the more he looked at it, he seemed to discover more about it that could only be seen in such a simple creature. It was actually a pretty little thing, with rich green needles seeming to wave at him, and a sort of modesty that the other trees lacked. He sat down with his legs crossed in front of the tree and stroked one of its soft needles, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"Hi, little tree," he said.

"…"

"Oh, welcome to Burbank, then. Where do you come from?"

"…"

"Oh _really_? What a nice place to live! I've been to Oregon for that Shakespeare thing. It _wasn't_ fun and Dot and me got in a lot a trouble because we kind of attacked Lady Macbeth with soap after she said she couldn't get the blood off, but Yakko and Alice enjoyed it. They still quote it. I don't like it when they do that. They think it makes them look smart. And they are, so it doesn't really matter anyway."

"..."

"Oh, Yakko's my brother and Dot's my baby sister. They're crazy, but I like them. Alice is our thespian friend. She never makes sense, and that's saying a lot for a toon."

"…"

"Nah, I dunno what a thespian is 'xactly, but I think it means someone who's British."

"…"

"Hmmm… I don't think _I'm_ a thespian, my voice is just supposed to be a funny parody of Ringo Starr, whoever she is. It was Andrea Romano's idea."

"…"

"_Hey_, I was actually supposed to sound like Elvis, so don't laugh at me! My sibs aren't Brits either, so I don't think I am, anyway."

"…"

"I guess so! But I don't wear jeans. I don't even wear pants. "

Around him, people stood in bewildered clusters whispering and pointing at the weird stray sitting and yakking to a tree. It was horribly awkward, you see.

Wakko sat up and smiled again brightly at the little sapling.

"Well, anyway, I have to go back. I am not very happy. I couldn't find a big tree for Michael Bay, and he'll probably call Stallone on me."

"…"

Wakko smiled and blushed. "Yes, it was nice talking to you." He sighed and drummed his fingers on his knee, annoyed. Then he smiled once more at the tree. "I am going to miss you, you know. You are the nicest tree I've ever met! And I guess you'll find a nice home."

"…"

Wakko nodded sadly. "Yes, everything is commercializized these days. Everyone wants metal trees or the pink or white or ugly blue plastic ones, or nothing at all. Nobody cares much about the 'spirit' anymore. I don't like it much, the way they celebrate Christmas now."

He stroked the little sapling's needles as though it were puppy fur, and suddenly, his eyes lit up, thrilled. He hopped up and down excitedly and waved for the tree to listen.

"I've just had the bestest idea! What if I took _you_ to Michael Bay? I mean, he wouldn't mind much, would he? And wait! He said to buy a _good _tree, not a big one! Ha! It's gotta work- everyone will be so happy to see you! And you're such a nice tree to talk to, you know. And if we decorated you, you'd be even more prettier!"

"…"

"Oh no, you'll be beautiful! And you'll be on the T.V., where everyone can see you, just like a movie star! Huh? What? Wait, I don't understand… slow down-!"

"Mommy, is that dog crazy?"

The young mother dragged her son away in a hurry. "Yes, dear, and he's a toon, too. There are tons of those things running around here. That's why I want to move down to L.A., where things are more subtle."

Wakko picked up the little tree, thrilled. "Nah, don't you worry! Everyone will _love_ you, I promise!"

The thrilled little toon carried the little sapling to the greasy, porky salesman. He tugged on the man's coat and cried happily, "Hello! I'd like to buy this tree!"

The salesman looked down through the cloud of cigar smoke, and the moment he laid eyes on the little sapling, he burst out in a raucous fit of laughter. He puffed out a cloud of black smoke and scoffed, "That puny little weed? Ha, that ain't worth barely nothing! Look how tiny it is!"

Wakko shook his head, quite sure of himself. "Oh no, mister, this is a very special tree. How much? I have to be back before they start filming without me."

The man stuffed a wad of cash into his pocket and snorted, "I dunno, gimme a twenty. Wait! Gimme a twenty and ten an' I won't tell no one 'bout you an' your little tree, kay?"

"Nah, I'm alright, sir," Wakko assured him, "On Christmas, everyone will see this little tree and she'll be famous!"

The man let out a bark of laughter. "You are such a little dork, ya know that? I mean, just how stupid are ya, kid?"

Wakko smiled and batted his lashes sweetly. "Oh, I'm not stupid, just unreasonably happy. And it's not nice to call people dorks, you know."

"Oh it ain't, ain't it?" the salesman growled through the cigar clamped in his yellow teeth.

"No. You're not very nice, are you?"

The man threw down his cigar and ground it into the pavement, his whiskered face turning an angry purple. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, just a puff of leftover smoke. Wakko coughed, disgusted, as the black cloud hit his face. He waved his hand across his little red nose.

"Plus you smell gross, kinda like a big smoky hard-boiled egg. But a rotten one." He passed him the twenty and jumped up, planting a kiss on the man's fat and grubby face. "Merry Christmas! And maybe, if you ask and really, _really_ believe with _all_ your clogged heart, Santa'll bring you some soap and a razor."

"_Why you little-!_"

"_Bye_!"

Wakko tore off across the parking lot with his little sapling friend before the salesman could catch him and skipped off down the sidewalk, thrilled at the thought of what Mister Bay would say.

"C'mon, tree," he cheered as he lugged him through the city, "You're gonna be the star of the show!"

* * *

><p>"<em>ARE YOU WACKO?<em>"

Wakko wiped Bay's spit off his face and blinked. "Why yes, I am! I mean… No. Wait- what's the joke? No, wait, can you repeat the question?"

"I can't believe you bought such a puny tree! I told you to get a big one!"

"But you said to get a good tree, not a big one."

"You're lying!"

Alice, who was reading on the floor, nonchalantly held up a tape recorder without even glancing from the page and played back: "_'You better get a good one, or…_'"

Bay stared down at her incredulously, holing tufts of hair in his hands. "Oh my _gosh_, I hate you!"

Alice continued reading. "Hate' is a rather strong word, isn't it Mr. Cove? I mean, try using 'strongly despise', or maybe 'loath with every ounce of my being'."

"Neither of those is better!" Bay shouted.

"Yes, but they give more variety to your sentences, like adding pickles and a shake of white pepper to a Subway sandwich. It makes the whole thing just so much better. It's more formal and sounds better altogether, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't care about sandwiches, I care about this horrible tree!" Bay shrieked.

Wakko held the tree closer to him and said, "It's a great tree! Tell me one thing that's wrong with it!" The others chorused in agreement.

"Where to start?" Bay yelled, "I mean, for starters, it's pathetically small and downright _puny_! I mean, it looks like an old pipe cleaner!"

Dot sauntered up to the little sapling in full sable coat and lipstick and crooned, "With a little trim I could have this tree looking _fabulous_."

Bay glared at her. "It wouldn't matter, or help, in that reason! In a special as big as this, it has to be huge! Ginormous! Gargantuan! I need a tree that blows all other trees out of the water!"

Yakko rolled his eyes. "C'mon, it doesn't have to be big _all_ the time. I mean, I get that you have a worn-out and clichéd laughing-stock reputation to uphold, Mr. Gulf, and that means big explosions, big robots, big muscles, big egos, big rear ends. But we did that just a half-hour ago, and you hated it!"

"You _destroyed the set_!" Bay snarled.

Dot crossed her arms. "We _did_ fix it!"

Bay glanced at the random chunks of wall taped together pathetically.

Dot went to it and pointed out proudly, "We ran out of staples and tape so we used a glue stick! Pretty smart, huh?"

"Our point is, shouldn't Christmas be really mellow and simple? Jesus was born in a food trough, for goodness' sake." Alice said, stowing her book behind her back "We shouldn't have to do everything 'big' just for the sake of being big."

"But my public expects 'big'!" Bay argued.

Yakko smiled at the tree and scruffled his blushing brother's messy hair under his cap, avoiding Elvis as he did so.

"I think Wakko did a great job! I like this tree! It's kinda small and pathetic, but in a good way. And I don't think the audience really cares about what the tree looks like. I think they'll be paying more attention to the naked wingnut riding a giant ornament through a wall."

Bay continued on in a tirade, a wall of swears and screamed gibberish. Dot leaned up against the wall casually, enjoying watching as he threw his tantrum when suddenly…

_SMASH_.

When the thick dust finally cleared, everyone could see the little toon coated in white powder in the debris, smiling nervously.

"Oops!"

Yakko sighed and shook his head. "I _told_ you; you should've used Scotch."

Bay sighed. The Tylenol was finally kicking in. "Look, guys, this isn't going to work. You've ruined my set, my reputation, my tree, my reputation, and my dreams and hopes of putting out an incredible special this holiday season!"

Yakko poked Alice. "He, Travolta, and Mouthbreather***** are what keep Egos R Us in business, right?"

"Don't forget Jennifer Aniston."

Yakko made a retching noise in his throat. "Ewww, how could I forget about her?"

"Yeah, how could you? She's in _everything_."

Wakko stuck his nose in the air. "Well, Mister Bay, this is a very good tree, and I don't know why you have to be so mean about everything."

"I'm not being mean, I'm being honest! That tree _cannot_ be in _this_ special!"

Alice looked at the little sapling and her face softened into a warm smile. "It really is a cute little tree, though," she said. "I think it represents exactly what Christmas is all about."

"Well I don't," Bay said, "so you can just get it off my set. And you get yourselves off, too! Shooting's done for the day! Be back here tomorrow, as we planned!"

The siblings glared at the furious director, mimicking him, and Yakko said, "Well then, we will take our tree home and decorate it, far away from you!"

"Fine then!" Bay yelled back.

"And if you want, go buy yourself a nice plastic tree," Alice suggested, "And shove it up your beak."

With that, all four of them stuck their tongues out childishly and disappeared before Bay could snatch them up and throttle them.

* * *

><p>Back in the tower, the siblings and Alice were busy, busy, busy. The fire in Yakko and Alice's library was roaring, filling the cold tower with a lovely, smoky, glowing warmth, and the kitchen was filled with the heavenly aroma of sugar.<p>

Boxes of ornaments, tin and copper angels and Santa Clauses, an Advent calendar, wreaths, garlands, candy canes, silver bells, glass figurines, nativity scenes (yes, they had more than one), stockings, and seasonal movies were stacked into the 'living room' around the television set blaring 'Elf' on the public station loudly, and bubble wrap, pine needles, and powdered candy cane littered the floor. As though the television wasn't loud enough, they were playing carols through Wakko's sound system from last Christmas. Strands of lights were draped half-stranded across the walls and a giant stack of wreaths was progressively growing in the corner of the room. There weren't many doors in the tower so hanging spots were limited. Singing Rudolph and Frosty stuffies were piled on the edge of the couch where Dot usually sat, as they were all hers. Every year, she got a new carol-singing toy to add to her collection, and she's been around for 85 years, so just try to imagine the scene for yourself.

Each sibling collected something different at Christmas, you see: Wakko collected Santa hats and had 85, of course. Yakko collected sheet music for Christmas carols, and every year loved to sit and try to play all of them. Wakko's gloves liked to help him out, too.

Alice, it being her first Christmas, had not yet decided on something to collect. And it's not particularly something you just do (there are exceptions; model trains, Iwako erasers, cats.), and the other toons had only realized they were collecting about 50 years into their confinement. So Alice still had a ways to go when it came to collecting, though she quickly found that she was rather drawn to the nutcrackers. Well, that's what the script said, anyway.

Alice and Dot were sitting on the stools in the kitchen, baking and making Alice her own stocking. Dot designed the front and Alice embroidered over the sketch, exactly the way Dot told her to, because Dot was the boss, after all. The two female toons had spent hours on the silly thing and finally, Alice held it up, thrilled to see what they had made.

"Oh, jiminy cricket, would you look at that!" she said through a surprised grimace.

It was a teddy bear holding a giant wreath. Not that it was a big deal, but the bear had the most dreadful, adorable, My Little Pony-like face, and despite her deep love for Tara Strong, still was in a secret pact with Yakko to save the world from the Bronies.

"Isn't it just precious?" Dot squealed hugging herself. "Ah, I have the most amazing vision!"

"Yes, it's, it's just… indescribable," Alice said with a wink at Yakko. He had come into the kitchen to see how the popcorn was coming along for the wreath outside and cracked up the moment he saw the sickly sweet little bear. He flicked a buttery pop of corn into his mouth with a wide grin.

"How much longer are you going to be? Wakko's climbing the walls, waiting to make the gingerbread village. Literally."

A distant yodel and alpenhorn echoed loudly from the living room.

Alice had heard about the gingerbread village from Dot, and Dr. Scratchansniff, and everybody at the studio. It was a myth passed down from employee to employee at Warner Brothers Studio over the past 80 years, something one had to see to believe, the stuff of legends. It was something that only those brave enough (or unfortunate enough, at that) to enter the water tower knew what it looked like. Daring people had tried taking pictures, or videos, but it was something that only the truest at heart could witness. It was the Holy Grail, the Valhalla, the Mount Olympus of Christmas attractions, and one that few had ever seen. But those special few who had knew alone the true splendor of it.

It had started a few years after being locked into the tower. The siblings had been bored, and Dr. Scratchansniff and Hello Nurse had brought up a gingerbread house kit, either out of pity, or compassion, or both. The siblings, who are naturally excited at nothing short of everything, were quick to deck out the little bread house with tricks only pastry chefs in Sweden or France or those other 'master baker' type countries know. After that, every Christmas, they began polishing their skills, and practicing more and more, and finding new ways to build and decorate the most elaborate, gigantic, and completely edible creations known to mankind.

They had started small at first, with little flats with quaint yet modern balconies and garages, and over time those morphed into grand southern mansions with twisting licorice wrought iron rails and white iced shutters on every floor. Those grew bigger, until there were Russian cathedrals with swirled candy roofs and ornate palace halls of crisp fondant pillars and sugary mosaic ceilings and blue dye #5 stained glass windows. 80 Christmases had perfected their skills to the point that they built one endless stretch of gingerbread metropolis across the entire top floor of the water tower, filling it with stunning cities from around the world to small rural country-sides, all flooded by gingerbreadmen and women and trees and jawbreaker snowmen.

The first person to have ever seen their creation was Ralph, and he fled the tower screaming at the people below about the holy sight in the tower. Of course, people were not fazed in the least, as they all knew the Warners had driven him and the physiatrist off the deep end, but after an inspector entered and beheld the sight, he too left the tower, telling everyone of the godlike village inside.

It soon became a big deal in the studio, and every year when the holiday season rolled around, people gossiped about the wonderful display that may be being constructed at that very moment in the belly of the structure. Alice was beyond thrilled to be a part of it.

"Well the walls should be out in a minute!" Dot said, putting on her oven mitts. She opened the oven and a spicy, warm, sugary smell wafted out and filled the tower Every one inhaled as she pulled the trays of layered gingerbread house walls out.

"Here they are!" she tittered, admiring the beautiful steaming canvasses, just waiting to be piped on, stacked, iced into works of art, only to be eaten by Wakko on New Year's Day.

Yakko grinned and said, "Great! Now we just need to load the lift and haul them upstairs!"

He zipped off in the blink of an eye and in the next moment was rumbling up in a forklift, wearing a bright orange construction cap.

"Load 'em up!" he called.

The girls took the hot trays of walls, shutters, porches, doors, chimney sides, stairs, people, and trees and loaded the all onto the platform. The great, strong metal arm dropped slightly at the impressive weight of the gingerbread, but Yakko rumbled off successfully carrying the load up the stairs.

Then came the frosting. Stacks of piping tips and boxes of Ziplocs were loaded next, along with enough containers of frosting to ice the entire city of Abu Dhabi two times over.

Then of course, came the candy, the beautiful, beautiful candy: Hershey bars, gumdrops, Rolos, gummy wreaths, candy buttons, peppermint starlights, M&Ms, marshmallows, jawbreakers, licorice (smuggled in inside Yakko's slacks so Wakko couldn't see them), peppermint patties, Nerds, and strawberry and vanilla wafers, a dozen bags of each. The stacks of the sugary delights were higher than lumber, and the toons couldn't help but wipe away stunned and amazed tears as the forklift carried the candies upstairs.

Now, the complete upper floor was cleared out every year to construct their masterpiece, and the back closet was stuffed to the brim with everything: the basketball hoop, the mini bowling ally, the little batmobile from Santa last Christmas.

The floor was a canvas, just waiting to be covered in the glorious gingerbread universe. The siblings and Alice all glanced at each other, smiling broadly, poised and energized for the task that lay before them. Like professionals, they took up their Ziploc bags, plastic tips, and the containers of beautiful white frosting, and with a _squirt_ and _zip_, they were armed with piping bags, locked and loaded, and while a metal rendition of 'Carol of the Bells' blared, they began.

Frosting soared through the air as gingerbread walls rose up from the ground, growing like sweet, spicy cake trees, and panel by panel, gingerbread brick by gingerbread brick, looming towers and palaces and skyscrapers rose up with turrets and half-circle balconies and grand courtyards with pillars and double doors. Spiral staircases twisted up from the ground and streets, alleys, and charming winding walkways spread out in between each incredible structure, creating roads and paths and vast spaces of countryside in between buildings to cities to countries.

Then, hours into the merry process, the candy was ready to be added. Roofs were frosted and powdered with frosting and fluffy sugar, icicles dripping from the eaves of the structures. Candy button doorknobs were added, hot pink Nerd driveways were sprinkled across the sweet snow, vanilla wafer shutters and doors were put into place, licorice wrought iron gates were put up, green coconut grass was laid out, green gum bushes and trees sprouted up, staircase rails were twisted elegantly up the sides, crushed sugar stained-glass windows were pieced together, looping and swirling white fondant pillars went up, small golden candy buttons were lined around doors and staircases to create gilded effects, and sugar snow was cast through the air.

And of course, last of all, the little gingerbread men and women and animals were ready to be prepared. They were given eyes, hair, smiles, and clothes from thick red scarves and caps to heavy 'fur' coats and gloves on their little fingerless hands. Each had a special place in the gigantic town; some were newspaper boys, some were doctors, some were butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and in the countryside, there were farmers in big red barns with their own pigs and chickens and cows.

Out beyond the little model of a quaint and cramped town and the rolling green coconut shred countryside, great monuments and recognizable landmarks rose up: Dot's Eiffel Tower made of thin bars of chocolate, Yakko's Taj Mahal of paneled white fondant and little yellow candy buttons, Wakko's Saint Basil Cathedral with its swirling crown roofs, and Alice's Pyramids of Giza constructed entirely out of thousands of little gingerbread bricks. Here, there were little mimes and beret-clad gingerbread people, and small curvaceous little belly dancers (Yakko shaved in the curves himself, much to the enjoyment of Wakko, the fury of Dot, and well, Alice was laughing- as usual. Again. Nothing out of the ordinary). Wakko made small little fat people in Viking hats for his cathedral, obviously confusing the structure with the Saint Petersburg Opera House, and Alice made little camels and men wearing turbans to surround her pyramids. She had picked up quickly the art of extreme gingerbread house making, as she was a fast learner.

Finally, they were done.

Looking over the splendor of everything they had made, they realized that they got a little more carried away than last Christmas, as they noticed every year that they annually progress to more parts of the tower. This year, the small progression was across the bridge leading over the train tracks and to the mini golf course across the moat.

Alice stood looking out, partially in awe, the other in shock. "Wow."

Wakko looked over at her incredulously. "Wow?"

Alice looked at him, confused. "Yes- wow. This entire layout is just wow."

Wakko frowned. "_Just_ wow? Why not beautiful, stupendous, glorious, _faboo_?"

Alice grinned at him and scruffled the hair under his cap, much to his bemusement and slight anger. "_D'aaawwwwww_, look at _you_! I will modestly assume that my impeccable use of adjectives has rubbed off. I'm such an inspiration. What do you think, Yakko?"

Yakko wasn't looking. He was squinting at the gingerbread metropolis before them, deep in concentration.

"Yakko?" Dot tugged on his arm.

"Something's missing."

The others looked at him, interested. "What do you mean?" Wakko asked.

"Isn't it beautiful? Stupendous? Glorious? Faboo? _Wow_?"

Wakko turned and sent Alice an annoyed pout and she smiled back cheekily.

Yakko rubbed his chin. "I dunno. It just needs… _something_. Something big."

Wakko squinted and scanned the metropolis. "We could put the Emperor State Building in the empty place in the middle?"

"_Empire_," Dot and Alice said together.

"Whatever."

Alice hopped over to the empty space and observed it. "Oh, no, we couldn't put the building _here_, what, with all the police constables and blinking sirens and the giant screaming ape. It just would just clash _dreadfully_ with the feng shui of everything else, don't you think? No, we should put something else here. What do you suggest, Yakko?"

Yakko motioned for them all to come with him. He led them down the firepole to the 'living room' and looked around excitedly.

"Let's all look for something to fit there! Something big and Christmas-y!"

The toons ran around the tower, looking along the table where they had laid out bigger decorations and digging through boxes.

Dot held up a giant metal snowman. "What about this? It's big enough!"

Yakko shook his hands. "Nah, something else, something more Christmas-y!"

"This would look rather pretty!" Alice called, holding up a thick gingerbread-scented candle about as tall as she was.

Yakko wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, in a middle-aged housewife's bathroom. Hey, we didn't get it, it was from Scratchansniff. Probably has one in his own bathroom, the fussy little housewife."

Dot grunted and rolled her eyes impatiently. "Then what are we gonna put there?"

Then Wakko had an idea. He waved his arm around above his head.

"Hey, everybody! What about the tree?"

Yakko turned around, flashing a smile at him. "That's a great idea!"

"We can decorate it and put tinsel and little gingerbread squirrels and those little decorative jeweled birds on the branches!" Alice exclaimed, running to the tree with Wakko to bring it upstairs.

"And we could put the little Polar Express model set through some of the town's streets instead of just _around_ the tree!" Dot squealed.

"Yeah, yeah!" the others cheered.

They followed Wakko up the stairs with the little sapling hooting like tribesmen, and danced along behind him across the gingerbread land. They followed him to the bare spot and set the tree down in the heart of the metropolis.

"I'll go get the skirt!"

"I'll get the ornaments!"

"I'll get the popcorn!"

"I'll get the Milk Duds!"

"Huh?"

"Huh?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing!"

So the Warners and company hurried around the tower all night, decorating their little sapling. Unfortunately, the lack of branches and overall weakness of the little sapling made it rather hard to decorate, so they could only string one strand of colored lights and hang their favorite ornaments before the tree would snap. They went to bed immediately after finishing, around three in the morning. Staying up late was something they did from December first to the 23rd, going to bed after dinner on Christmas Eve so Santa would come. After that, they were up playing until New Year's and they went to bed whenever they got home from terrorizing parties all across the Burbank, Hollywood, and L.A. area. Those were the worst mornings of the year, because going to bed at eight in the morning isn't particularly fun, you know.

* * *

><p>The next morning, they finished decorating before returning to the filming set. It had been replaced that night with an even prettier set, apparently, and when they returned Bay was gorging himself on Clif bars and guzzling black coffee. It didn't help. And the siblings got an even more unpleasant surprise as the day rolled on.<p>

Around lunch, one of Bay's personal assistants came wheeling in a tall box. He et it down in front of the siblings and Bay snickered to himself.

"Well, well, well, I'm such a genius. Well then, my dear little Wacky-,"

"Wakko!"

"Whatever. Could you please open this package for me and tell me what's inside?"

"_PRESENT!_" the toons shrieked, and like starved and ravenous lions pounced onto the box, tearing the cardboard apart with their fingers and teeth. Bay reached out and bit his fist to keep from screaming at them. Starting out the day with anger is never a good idea, kids.

They pulled the contents out, thrilled, but froze when they saw the ugly plastic tree before them.

"_Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_, Mr. Lake, why did you buy a plastic tree?" Yakko muttered, confused.

"It is pretty, cheap, and doesn't make a mess!" Bay exclaimed.

"But- but I don't _like_ it!" Wakko said.

"Well life stinks, doesn't it, kid," Bay shrugged. "You destroyed my set, brought me back a houseplant, and so I solved the problem myself. You're welcome."

"But I don't _like_ it," Wakko said again.

"_We_ don't like it!" the others chimed in.

"_I_ like it, and that's the only thing that matters," Bay sneered.

"BUT WE DON'T LIKE IT! _WAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!_" they all howled.

"Oh, no no no no no, don't cry! Uh I'll, uh- I-I'll uh, I'll send it back! Yeah, I'll get another one? Wait wait wait, I'll let you pick the color! I-,"

But the implacable toons screamed even louder at that, and the Tylenol wore off and the energy bars kicked in.

"_SHUUUUUT_ UP!"

The toons stopped crying and lay curled up and sucking their thumbs meekly.

Bay sucked air through his teeth and growled, "Now then… we are filming this with the plastic tree whether you like it or not. I'm the boss, and if you destroy my set, or the tree, I'll just replace it! Nothing can stop me! I am Michael Benjamin Bay, the robot battle god! I have turtles and explosions and women in the palm of my hand, I rule them! And anything I direct is mine, my own, for me. So this is mine, and I will do as I please! So it's time to get the ball rolling."

So the toons obediently dragged themselves to their spots. The tree was set up. The curtains were lowered. The director yelled.

It was a long day.

* * *

><p>They got back to the tower around four.<p>

Alice collapsed in a chair and groaned, "Okay, I cannot believe I am saying this, but I actually strongly despise him and loathe him with every ounce of my being."

Yakko rolled his eyes with a grin. "So, if you're not all tuckered out, do you wanna go out to eat something?"

Dot groaned. "Eh… I dunno… I don't feel much like going out. It's two days 'til Christmas and I wanna stay in and watch Christmas specials and drink hot chocolate 'til I fall asleep. At least there's no more shooting."

Alice drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. "This special is going to stink. Everything is wrong."

Yakko nodded. "Well, we're still getting paid. That's completely beside the point, but still. Who wants takeout?"

Everyone raised his or her hands.

* * *

><p>The tower was beautiful. The lights were blinking, the trains whistling, the fire in the library crackling. Empty and greasy takeout boxes littered the kitchen counter and the television set was playing <em>Home Alone<em>. Yakko, Dot, and Alice sat together on the sofa, staring blankly at the screen due to their unhealthy intake of sodium.

Yakko turned around and peered over the sofa back curiously. Wakko was curled up at the kitchen counter, scribbling away furiously at something.

"Whatcha up to, Wakko?" he called. The others turned to see.

"Writing a letter to Santla," Wakko mumbled, deep in concentration.

"I thought we already wrote our letters!" Alice said.

"Well I'm writing another one."

"Whatcha writing 'bout that's so important?" Dot piped up.

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh Okay!"

The three toons turned back around and kept watching.

But Wakko was very busy- and determined, at that. He reread the letter twenty times over, just to make sure it was _perfect_. And when he finished checking, he smiled to himself. He had written a decent letter, and he was quite proud of what he had to say:

Dear Santla,

How are you? I hope youre good, I am great. But I bet you already know because your elves spy on us. I know you know I wrote another letter because you read it and I know I'll get my shellraiser on Christmas. But Im writing this letter because Im really upset. My brother and sister and Alice and me are in a show and Michele Bay is the directer and he is really mean. I went and got a pretty tree and he didnt like it but its really very nice. Its in the tower now but Im sad because Mr Bay said it isnt big enough. But I dont think the size is importent because Christmas isnt about being big and beutaful. Its about giving and being good people to people who dont have alot and I want my tree to be better so she can be in the show. I want everyone to see how pretty she is even though she is not perfect. Can you make her better? Not in a look sort of way but she is really little and week and I want her to be healthy and pretty in her decorations. I hope you are safe flying around in your slay. Merry Christmas! -Wakko

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong> **50 points will be awarded to whoever can guess what this is a reference to. XD**


	4. Act 2- The Mouse King

They're Pinky and the Brain

Yes Pinky and the Brain

One is a genius; the other's other insane

They've hatched another plan

A jolly Christmas scam

They're Pinky, they're Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain.

They'll shrink the Warner four

And create a dreadful snow

And with hypnotic tricks galore

They'll take over the show

They're Pinky and the Brain

Yes, Pinky and the Brain

Their twilight campaign is easy to explain

They'll hijack Santa's sleigh

Be kings by Christmas Day

They're Pinky, they're Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain.

NARF!


End file.
